


Love The Way You Lie

by Rachrar



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-24
Updated: 2010-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachrar/pseuds/Rachrar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur was acting oddly, Alfred noted to himself, elbow on the table. How, he couldn't say. It's not like he was a creeper or anything. But something was off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It is not a song-fic, I just like how the phrase sounds and fits.

Arthur was acting oddly, Alfred noted to himself in a meeting as he played with a black pen, spinning it idly in his fingers with his head resting on his other hand, elbow on the hard table. How, Alfred couldn't say, it wasn't like he followed all of Arthur's moves or anything, he totally wasn't a creeper, but something felt off. And Alfred would know, of course. Duh. He was America, the best damn country in the entire universe and hell if he didn't know his Dad slash Big Bro.

Well, not really Dad or Big Bro anymore. He denied that about two hundred years ago. But he did like to call Arthur "Dad" sometimes, just to see how Arthur's face would light up happily for a moment, maybe thinking some sappy stuff like "my little boy!" or something before it would just extinguish like the time Alfred put a candle in water so hear the hiss as the fire was put out. He got in trouble for that, he remembered, shifting in his seat as his bum remembered all too well of the hide-tanning he'd gotten as punishment.

The pen slipped from his fingers to clatter noisily on the hardwood table, drawing a sharp stare from the green-eyed man himself, who was currently giving a boring speech about Global Warming, saying something silly like having to cut down on gasoline use and greenhouse gazes, whatever those were. After all, why couldn't a superhero just shield the earth? It was a hell of a lot less complicated and solved it with two steps. Step one, get a superhero. Step two, have him (or her! America doesn't discriminate!) shield the earth. Bam! Done and the world was safe.

"...paying attention?" The Englishman snapped out, Alfred just hearing the last bit of the sentence. The honey-colored strands shifted as Alfred's head shot up to actually look from the paper he'd been doodling on to the speaker.

"Uh..." he paused, thinking fast, because, as everybody knew, heroes thought fast. Arthur looked annoyed and pissed, crossing his arms and his lips tightening, a foot tapping on the floor. Alfred recognized it as the "Trouble is coming your way" position and responded with the ever useful "I'm not guilty!" reply.

"'Course I'm paying attention," he answered casually, picking up his pen and flicking through the presentation notes handed out, glancing to the projector screen to figure out where they were. "You were talking about... uhm, how the ozone layer shields the earth like a superhero and how instead of a superhero, 'cause you hate my idea, we should beef up the layer." He smiled blithely.

Arthur's sharp eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, ignoring the utter ignorance in your argument and answer, you are technically correct. I was talking about how we should keep the ozone layer at the proper thickness, however, I said nothing about a superhero. Then again, who knows what goes through your head," he concluded with a flat stare, voice hitching oddly and making Alfred's ears perk curiously, though he replied as though he had heard nothing.

"Hey, hey! Hero-ness goes through my head!" Alfred answered cheerily.

"Mmm, well, it's certainly not- not intelligence," Arthur responded snippily, stumbling for a moment before adjusting the white collar of his button up shirt as though uncomfortable. Alfred frowned to himself as Arthur reentered into his argument, seeing a smudge on the collar. That was weird. Arthur NEVER let a single stain ever stay, and if something actually stained, he got rid of it. Come to think of it, Arthur's clothing was a bit off today.

There was a frayed edge on the blue sweater vest that was bad enough that even Alfred could see it, and the bottom edge of Arthur's pants were unsewn, like the hem came undone. Weird... Really, really weird. Alfred tried paying more attention to Arthur to figure out was was wrong. Rather than taking notes on the stupid ideas the Englishman said, he took notes on what was wrong.

He's stumbling over his words a lot. He never does that. And he only does it when he looks at me! He looks really sad. He's playing with his clothes a lot, like touching the collar and loosening the tie every once in a while before tightening it again. He's totally nervous. I wonder what it is. I should find out! And fix it! 'Cause I'm a hero. Hell yeah.

After the meeting, when Arthur was packing up his presentation and the rest of the nations had left, Alfred walked up to Arthur with a bright smile. "Are you okay?"

Arthur jerked in surprise, as though he hadn't heard Alfred's ever-loud approach and nodded quickly. "Of course I am, twit," he said sharply, closing his briefcase with a snap, the sound seeming final. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Alfred frowned a little bit. Seeing Arthur up close made for a really unsettling view. Arthur had lost some weight, his face looking a little pinched, and there were circles under his eyes that had been hidden by makeup. However, Arthur had sweated some to reveal the circles when the makeup faded. His eyes were jumpy too, looking everywhere before settling on Alfred with a frosty gaze.

"Hey, I'm just worried," Alfred laughed, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, gloves doing a poor job but, hey, leather gloves looked badass, so it was worth it.

Arthur's expression softened or a moment, but only a moment, and then he was back to angry. "Well, I'm fine."

"Hey, Arty..." Alfred began, looking down awkwardly and shifting his weight from foot to foot, hands fiddling together. What was a good way to get Arthur to 'fess up? Get close to him! But he couldn't exactly be bros with him... well, everybody said that Arthur liked him. Maybe he could date him, find what was wrong, fix it, and then he'd be happy and Alfred would have done his good hero deed! Yeah!

"Will you be my boyfriend?" He asked with a slight flush. Sure, he was doing it for Arty, but... but it was still embarrassing! What if Arthur said no? What if his president found out? Oh, well, not like his boss would really care, but what if the people found out? They'd get so mad! And Alfred wasn't exactly comfortable with it to begin with, after all, gay marriage was still banned. Not that he would mind if it wasn't! But Alfred just wasn't really all that sure of the whole gay thing. He got past calling people "Faggots" at least. So that was an improvement. Because apparently, people could hate homosexuals, but damn, insult them and you're fucked!

"Yes," Arthur replied simply as he swept papers into another briefcase without looking up from the table.

Alfred's thoughts ground to a halt. "Wait, really?" His eyes widened a little. He hadn't expected it to be so easy!

"Yes, really, git, now let's go on a proper date. If you even dare to think that a fast food restaurant is proper date fare I will strangle you until you die."

Alfred gave a silly grin. "Nah! We'll go somewhere nice!" He promised, embracing Arthur with a big bear hug, picking him off of the ground and ignoring Arthur's flailing and angry snipping. Even as he smiled though, on the inside, Alfred frowned. Arthur didn't weigh enough and his clothes hid the fact that he was a lot thinner.

Something was really, really wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred smiled as he waited for the door to open, holding a bouquet of flowers for Arthur and wanting to see him smile. Something was still wrong- Arthur was still thin, still jumpy (moreso, now, really), and looked crazy tired. It was so weird. He knocked once more, the door shaking from the accidental force and he winced when he saw indents in the fine wood of the door. Arthur was going to be angry.

The door flew open and Arthur ducked back in the room, just barely peeking out, eyes almost hidden. "Get in!" He hissed in his crisp accent. "Quickly!"

Alfred blinked, but walked inside at a normal pace in direct contradiction to Arthur's request, confused. The door was slammed closed quickly and Arthur shook as he heard the house quiver form the force. Alfred tilted his head, brows furrowing. "Arthur, what's wrong...?"

Arthur shook his head furiously, silent for a moment as he shook. After a few beats passed, he seemed to crumple into himself and darted forward to cling to Alfred, burying his head in Alfred's chest. "Oh, Alfred, I'm so afraid..."

Alfred embraced him tightly, setting down the flowers. "What's wrong, babe?" he asked softly, petting Arthur's head gently, nuzzling his hair. "Tell me please."

Arthur merely buried his head in Alfred's chest as though trying to hide, the large bomber jacket hiding him almost. Alfred merely let it go, so confused. What happened? Did his faerie things die or leave him or something? Did he curse somebody? Fuck it was bad if Arthur was doing this.

"You'll be here for me forever, won't you?" he asked finally, raising a tear-soaked face to meet Alfred's eyes, those green eyes shining.

Alfred blinked, confused and slightly awkward. He was always terrible with crying people and a crying Arthur was even worse. After all, it was the man who raised him. And here he was... crying. Alfred merely nodded weakly. "Of course, babe..."

Arthur clung tighter, pale knuckles turning white from holding so tight to Alfred's shirt. "Promise? Forever? And you'll never leave me again, will you? You're all I have left of my empire. Nobody cares about me. I'm collapsed, so weak, I'm nothing anymore. Nobody wants me around. I only have you, only ever you. I need you, Alfred, so much. You can't ever leave me."

Alfred raised an eyebrow but nodded, puzzled. "Of course. I'm here for you forever, 'cause I'm a hero."

Arthur clung tightly. "I knew I could count on you. You'd never leave me again. I love you. I love you so much, Alfred. So much."

Alfred continued petting him gently, worried. He felt Arthur shaking and more tears falling. After a short time, he couldn't help it- his attention wandered. He looked around curiously, seeing a newspaper with a bold headline;  _LONDON KILLER STRIKES AGAIN_. He frowned. There was a killer? And Arthur hadn't complained about him? Weird. Then again, something was wrong with Arthur. Maybe he was remembering the past and the War of Independence or something.

That had to be it, Alfred decided. He'd just have to prove to him that he'd never leave and he'd fix him right up! And then he could really get a closer look at that one girl at the Starbucks who was giving him the eye. She was really pretty, he remembered even as he kissed the top of the short male's head and murmured gently, "I'll never go away, 'cause heroes never leave somebody that needs them."

Maybe next time he went to Starbucks, he should get a really crazy order, he mused. Just to see her look confused, 'cause that was cute. Maybe casually get her number...


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later, Alfred was once again at Arthur's home, the large-browed male having seemingly calmed. At least, he didn't repeat his freak out. He stuck his hands in his pockets thoughtlessly, bored, feeling a paper in the pocket of his bomber jacket. He smiled slyly, then brought his hands back out as he craned his neck to look out the window.

He made sure to hear the car start up and drive off before heaving his feet up onto the table and leaning on the legs of the chair precariously, comfortable as he grabbed the newspaper and read about the murders.

_The first murder was conducted at late night on the twenty-second of May, the victim seeming to be asleep on the street. However, when a passer-by had shaken the young man, he did not awaken, prompting a scared call to 999. The male, whose name will not be released, was young, late teens to early twenties with short blond hair and blue eyes as well as glasses. He was of a strong build. The cause of death was later identified as carbon monoxide poisoning, a painless method of murder. More puzzling yet, the male was adjusted after death to look as though he were sleeping. The murderer is still at large and..._

Alfred flicked through to find the information on the other murders, too bored to read it word for word. Phrases leapt out to him.  _...another blond, blue eyed male... young, killed painlessly... Males living in London are told to be on the lookout for a small, lithe killer...some reports say the killer has a Scottish accent, the others Irish, still more Welsh, and even English..._

Alfred yawned and stretched for a short moment before setting the paper down. That was just weird. There was some pictures of the killed teens and young adults and they were all creepily like Alfred. All were American, too. He paused, then flicked the paper to read the continuation on the next page.

_As July approaches, the murders have gotten increasingly violent. At first the deaths were painless and almost perversely loving, but the latest murders have gotten gruesome. The last male killed, number 5, was reportedly bashed over the head with a heavy object, causing his skull to shatter. The body was also ruined, cuts and gashes everywhere. There seems to be an air of a final date looming, forensic psychologists say, and if the murderer is not caught by that date, he or she may never be found._

He shivered before turning away to see Arthur returning, smiling as he returned to a proper sitting pose that wouldn't get him a smack to the head for balancing improperly on the chair.

"Hey, Arty!" He greeted.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur looked up with a jerk from the paper bag of groceries he held, surprised to see Alfred still in his home. He quickly glanced about before noting to himself that Alfred, unlike his last visit, has not toyed with his knick-knacks and broken them. Good.

"Hello," he said simply with a slight quaver to his tone, setting the bag on the kitchen counter and glancing to Alfred sitting at the dinner table. "What have you been doing?"

Alfred grinned and stretched lazily, making an odd noise. "Readin' the paper."

"Ah?" Arthur asked as he pulled out a new knife set, the plastic irritatingly isolating the blades from each other. He pulled the empy knife block closer to himself and began slotting the knives into their respective places. "What were you reading about?"

Alfred shrugged. "Just the London murders," he answered with an air of curiosity. "How come you never told me about them?"

The steak knife slid into its slot with a heavy thud, as though Arthur had let go too early and it fell into place. He spun, looking slightly scared. "They're nothing important. Don't talk about them. I don't like them," he spat out quickly. "It's not an appropriate topic at a dinner table. Now get along and go home."

Alfred's brow furrowed. "Arty, you okay? You seem kinda... spazzy." He frowned, taking note of Arthur's posture. Yeah, he could read the atmosphere, he just usually didn't want to, but right now, it looked like it needed it.

Arthur's hands were clasped on the edging of the countertop, knuckles white from a tight grip, his muscles were tense and his eyes had an odd gleam to them. Plus he was talking really fast. Something was up.

Arthur snapped his neck to the side, a characteristic scowl on his features as he brought his arms up (shakily) to cross them. "Shut your gob, git. You speak of things that you know nothing of."

Alfred for his part, stood up and walked over, putting his hands on Arthur's shoulders. Arthur was...shaking. Alfred's frown deepened. "Arty? What's going on?"

Arthur shivered, eyes closing almsot painfully and he bit his lip. "They deserve it. They were bad children that ran away from their fathers."

Alfred was taken aback, blinking hard, hands loosening on Arthur. Arthur turned around and calmly began to place the rest of the knives into place. It was silent but for the soft thuds of the knives clicking into place, measuring the time in sharp stuccato.

_Thud._

_Thud._

_Thud._

"Arthur, did you kill them?"

The final knife slid from Arthur's grasp to clatter on the granite countertop, luckily not cutting the pale man. His shoulders tensed, rising like hackles, and he kept facing away. His tone was pure ice as he spoke. "Of course not," he answered. "I would make a mess if I did, and gentlemen don't make messes that they cannot clean up."

Alfred hesitated. "Arty, why do they all look like me?"

Arthur froze. "They don't," he replied shortly.

Alfred glanced about the kitchen, gleaming and shining new. "Why did you get new knives?"

"My old ones were dull and needed replacing."

Alfred frowned. "But they were those Miracle blades, the ones that last forever..."

Arthur laughed once, very forced. "Obviously not." He turned slowly and deliberately, then cupped Alfred's chin. "You believe me, don't you?"

Alfred chuckled weakly, looking very unsure. "Of course, Arty."

"Good boy." Arthur reached up on his tip-toes for a kiss, slipping his hands into Alfred's pockets as Alfred embraced him in return. The kiss stopped suddenly, Arthur's experienced lips freezing. Alfred pulled away, confused.

"What is it?" He asked, frowning.

Arthur's gaze was focused on the pocket, his hand touching the object he had found away from sight curiously. He pulled it out and Alfred paled noticeably. It was the paper he'd put in there from the other day. It was the number of the girl from Starbucks.

Arthur slowly unfolded the scrap of paper to see very feminine writing, curly and loopy. A name and a phone number. He kept staring at it for a few minutes, Alfred feeling more and more uncomforable with the icy feeling Arthur exuded.

"You got a girl's phone number?" He asked lowly.

Alfred shifted his weight from one leg to another. "It was totally forced on me, man," he lied poorly. Arthur didn't miss the tell-tale signs of a liar- it was impossible for Alfred to lie to him. He had raised the boy from a wee babe. There was nothing Arthur did not know.

"You lie."

Alfred laughed, trying to lighten the situation that suddenly felt sharply dangerous. Alfred's gaze flickered to the counter, looking for the butcher knife that had fallen there.

It was gone.

He swallowed nervously. "Of course not. Heroes don't lie."

"And gentlemen don't kill people."

Alfred stood still, processing that thought in his mind slowly. "I thought they didn't...?" He asked after a minute, wary and getting ready to run. Sure, he could overpower Arthur, but Arthur was a scrapper and had been in many more fights than the American. He had the upper hand.

"Pirates do."

As the meaning of the sentence began to dawn on Alfred, a pair of lips attacked his own savagely, and a sharp blade was placed at his neck.

_Shit._

 


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm so glad you've gotten quiet, Alfred," Arthur murmured gently, sweeping aside the honey-colored bangs to press a kiss to the skin exposed. His lips quirked into a smile. "It was annoying with you being so loud."

He turned away from the man at the table, bustling to the kitchen and smiling brightly. "Would you like some pop to go along with your hamburger?" He began pouring a cup of Coca-cola he kept in the house only for Alfred, then heard the hamburger thud onto the plate. "Ah? Finished eating? Wonderful! I have some dessert."

He waltzed like he had no worries and placed the glass of soda and ice on the table, watching the ice clink in the dark liquid for a moment from emerald eyes before twirling on the spot to face the oven. A small  _ding!_ was heard and an egg alarm went off, buzzing busily on the counter. Arthur turned the alarm off and slipped on some gloves, still speaking.

"It's apple pie, Alfred. I know you love it," his smile turned nostalgic. "It's a shame you've grown so big. When I made a pie it would last two weeks. Now it barely cools in its tin!" He laughed brightly, the room lighting up from the simple joy abounding from the small man.

He opened the oven, leaning back so that the hot air would rush out harmlessly instead of burning him, waiting a moment before tugging the metallic rack a bit to grasp the pie through the oven gloves. He pulled it out gently, watching the just slightly burnt crust crinkle. He laughed weakly.

"Well, it's a little dark today, Alfred, but the inside is great! I know you'll love it." He carefully set the pie on a cooling rack on the table, watching steam rise from the baked good. He pulled the gloves off and shut the oven, turning the oven off and slid into place across from Alfred at the table. He watched the steam, leaning on one hand and smiling softly.

"I followed the recipe exactly," he said after a few moments, musing. "Well. I made it better," he admitted. He drew designs on the table, the light wood letting the smear of his fingertip create patterns according to his will. First a Union Jack, then, just because it looked lonely, the Stars and Stripes. After staring at it for a moment, he frowned. He did not like that flag.

He slashes his hand through it and didn't redraw it, leaving only the Union Jack. After a few seconds of calm contemplation, he added the Saint George's Cross, his own personal flag as England, rather than the Unite Kingdom. He smiled, large brows seeming to soften his usually irritated expression into one of loving care.

He reached to take Alfred's hand in his own, taking the paper that had fallen on the table into his other hand. He examined the number, then tossed it in the trash. He held Alfred's hand more firmly after that.

"Do you want some tea?" He asked before chuckling. "Nevermind. You never want tea. I'll get you coffee." He kissed the soft hand in his own before standing and heading to the counter.

He knew just have Alfred like his coffee- strong enough to have caffeine but not too bitter. Two scoops exactly into the filter, then the filter into the basket and some water into the back. He flicked the small switch, watching it light up with a dull orange color to indicate that the appliance was in use. His lips quirked into a smile. Alfred had always hated tea since the Boston Tea Party. Well, that little tiff was over now.

He waited patiently for the machine to stop its grumbles and hisses, hearing the sound of the liquid pour into the coffee pot in drips. He turned away and put water into the kettle so he could make tea for himself, spinning the knob to turn on the heat before leaning against the counter, elbows on it and letting his head fall back.

He sighed. "My, it's really something. You're lucky I have coffee for you, git." He closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of either of the objects to alert him.

He almost fell asleep, a light meditative state over taking his mind and leaving it bare of thoughts, merely contentment. A whistle broke it, though, letting him know the water was hot enough for the tea. He switched the heat off and poured the water in the cup, dropping in a tea bag of Earl Grey. Cliche, yes, but delicious.

Some noises were heard outside, heavy boots tromping up to the door, but he ignored them. A knock on the door, firm and powerful, along with a flurry of garbled French. A sharp command in German silenced the French and there was no sound for a short time.

He let the tea steep and poured out a mug of coffee for Alfred, pouring in creamer til it paled and added enough sugar to feed and army of ants for a week before setting it before the American. "Isn't it nice? I made it just how you like it."

There was another knock at the door, shaking the barrier to the outside world. Arthur didn't even acknowledge it. Another knock, then more words, some worried and some angry.

He smiled blithely for a moment or two before turning his attention back to the tea. He picked up a small jug of milk, pouring it in over the dark liquid carefully to cool it and calm the bitterness, pulling out the bag and setting it aside. A few dollops of honey and it was perfect. He stirred with the small spoon, standing and watching the colors mix and felt the heavy clump of the viscous honey begin to melt.

The door flew open, making Arthur look up calmly, vaguely curious. "Hello," he greeted with a soft smile, still stirring the tea serenely.

Francis swooned at the sight of the corpse of the American, fainting immediately and falling. Ludwig stared at him coldly for a moment before sighing and turned his gaze to Arthur.

Arthur was a mess, clothing rumpled and ruined, some parts shredded and others gashed, blood sprayed over his blue vest. The American's hand had been manipulated to hold a hamburger, he saw, then narrowed his eyes. There was a deep gash across Alfred's throat, a mockery of a smile, and blood pooling on the floor and all over the body.

Arthur merely smiled and tilted his head in curiosity, then extended a hand with the tea cup on a saucer.

"Fancy a cuppa?"


End file.
